


X Marks the Spot

by unseenbox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Pirate/Captive Roleplay, Safeword Use, Sexual Roleplay, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unseenbox/pseuds/unseenbox
Summary: Ferdinand is being held captive by Dorothea, the dreaded pirate queen. That is, if he could stay remotely in character.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	X Marks the Spot

Captain Dorothea is feared across all of Fódlan. They say her beauty alone could sink a ship. As Ferdinand stands in her quarters, hands tied behind his back, he is beginning to believe these rumors. Her hair cascades in brown waves from underneath a jaunty pirate cap. She is wearing his riding coat and nothing beneath. He can see the valley of her breasts and the thin line of skin left bare where the coat does not cover. She holds her hands on her hips and keeps her knee cocked out, power in every curve. The strength of her takes his breath away. His heart beats so loudly he swears he can hear it pulse. He longs for her embrace, but she is all the way over there, and his hands are tied even still.

Dorothea crosses her arms, amusement in her voice and the sparkle of her eyes. "Ferdie, you've gotta act your part, too, you know."

"Ah!" Ferdinand coughs, trying to center himself. Focus, focus! She'd gone through all this effort setting up the scene, the least he could do was carry his weight! "Just give me a moment. I am overwhelmed at the sight of you."

She smiles, pleased. "Oh, I've got all the time in the world for this."

He closes his eyes, letting his vision swim. When he opens them again, it is no longer a bedroom but a ship's quarters they stand in. His heart thumps beneath long-old scar tissue not from passion but from nerves. It is not a handkerchief that binds his hands but a thick knotted rope. Captain Dorothea stands across from him like a sea storm. He will not let his ship run aground, though he suspects it is already much too late for that. He gulps, wide-eyed.

“Shame about your ship, but, well,” Dorothea says. She examines her nails, smiling like a shark. “The sea’s no place for a sheltered little noble like you, so, really, I think I did you a favor.”

Ferdinand draws up his shoulders and his courage. “I demand you let me go this instant!”

Dorothea pierces him with her gaze. She crosses her arms under her breasts as if they are a perch. “You’re not really in a position to make demands, now, are you?”

He tries to stand his ground, though it is difficult in the face of such peril. Very definitely peril, and not at all longing. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir,” he says, just as full of bravado and unearned confidence as when he was young and foolish. “And I can make demands of whosoever I wish!”

Dorothea laughs, bright and clear. “Oh, I’m sure you can.” She leans herself against the back of a swivel chair, legs crossed. She waves with just the tips of her fingers. “But I’ve decided that I’m not going to listen to them. I’m not in the habit of doing something for nothing, you know.” He tries to keep his gaze trained to her face, and not the way the fabric of his coat scrunches around her thighs. He feels sticky where sweat gathers on his brow and under the thin linen of his shirt.

“But what of the goodness of your heart? Would it not be merciful to free me, as I am your prisoner?” He swallows around nothing. The thought boils in his head and sets his blood to simmer. He can feel himself start to stiffen, so he bites his lip in a bid to distract himself. An erection is not in character, Ferdinand!

Given the way Dorothea eyes the small bulge in his pants, he suspects she may have caught on to his dilemma. Her eyes twinkle like stage lights. She hums as she pretends to mull it over. Her fingers tap restlessly against her shoulders. She scrunches up her nose, shaking her head and causing some of her curls to fall. “Nah. Mercy doesn’t really keep the fires lit at night.”

His brows twist in confusion. “It is gold you want? I am sure I can pay whatever sum you require.”

“Tempting, I admit, but I’d get even more from your ransom, and all you have to do is stay put for a week or two. I’m sure you can manage that.” Her hooded eyes dance to his arms still bound behind his back. He pushes and pulls and twists to no avail. His shoulders flex from the useless effort. He lowers his head in imagined defeat, hair curtaining around his face.

“Please. There must be something I can offer you. Anything.”

Dorothea springs up from the chair. She walks back and forth for a few paces, circling. She taps her hand against her cheek in thought, humming as she ponders. She returns to face him, closer than before if only by an inch. He thinks he can see her legs trembling. Ah, so he is not the only one having trouble focusing. “Tell you what. Prove that you can make yourself useful around here, and I’ll consider letting you go.”

He brightens, spring returning to his metaphorical step. “I will perform any task you ask of me! I can swab the deck, or perhaps assist in the galley, or—”

“I’ve a few ideas in mind.” Her shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. “How about we start simple?” She curls the few locks of hair that fall around her neck. “Kneel for me,” she breathes.

An “Oh,” is punched out of him. He’s boiling again, bubbling under the skin. He seems to have forgotten how knees work, in any case. They creak as he does as he’s bid. He kneels. He fidgets at the weight placed on his ankles and calves, wobbling this way and that until he centers himself. His shoulders ache from the newfound strain, but it is a bearable ache. His throat goes dry as he gazes up at her through the fall of his hair. A tremble runs through her limbs again, and he longs to soothe it. That thin ribbon of skin bared by the coat still taunts him, as does the fullness of her chest. Her legs seem even longer from this far down. But perhaps best of all are her glowing eyes and warm and wobbling smile.

“Not bad.” There’s a laugh in her voice and a tilt to her head. She runs a hand along the back of the swivel chair before seating herself. She crosses her legs as she does so, thigh over knee. One foot stays planted on the ground while the other kicks at the air. Her toes curl with anticipation. Her hand drums against the arm of the chair. “But we’ve got a long way to go.”

Ferdinand clenches his hands and wobbles in his bounds. His eyes must be as wide as dinner plates. “What more do you want from me?”

“Come a little closer and you’ll see. You can do that, right?” He tries to lift himself onto the balls of his feet, but she shakes her head, so he lowers himself back down. “Oh, no, no, no. Let’s not undo all the hard work you did.” She grins, leaning back in the chair. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He pouts, weighing his options. He doesn’t want to stress his muscles too much or tip over, so he supposes shuffling on his knees might be the best way to go. Dorothea isn’t sitting too far away, perhaps a few feet, but he takes his time as he slides himself forward. A broken nose is nothing to sneeze at, after all, and they’d most certainly have to stop the charade to gather some tissues. He overbalances once and nearly tips over, but he catches himself on his elbow before he falls. Dorothea rises to help him up, which he accepts, though his face goes a bit red from embarrassment in the process. She brushes his hair back from where it sticks to his forehead and briefly squeezes his arm to confirm that he’s not bruised.

“Ferdie, you wanna keep going?” she asks, still hovering.

He deflates, looking anywhere but at her face. “Do not be alarmed, as I am not injured. But… perhaps a bit of assistance moving forward?”

“Sure, alright. Let’s get you to your mark.” She laughs, a little nervous, as she helps him scoot forward. It isn’t much, just a hand to his shoulder to help keep him from pitching too far to the left, but it does the trick. He thanks her, and so she hops back up onto the chair. He’s sat a hand’s width from her, less if she moves her leg just so. She takes a few breaths, shaking out her shoulders and combing her hair back into place with her fingers. This close, he can see her ribs rise and fall with the exhale. The swell of her breasts under his coat. The curl of hair closest to her neck. Up and up he looks, until he meets her bright eyes. “On with the show?”

Ferdinand nods, awestruck. “I am ready now.”

She draws her shoulders up, sitting tall. She smiles, all teeth. Tapping her chin with her fingers, restless. “Well,” she hums. “Don’t you look nice down there.” He flushes red, fidgeting under the weight of her gaze and the smell of her perfume. She extends a hand, lifting up his chin with her fingertips. Her nails are not sharp, but they feel as daggers to him. Warmth thrums through him and pools in his belly. He is pinned, held immobile by just that small touch. He can feel himself trembling as she tilts his chin to the left and then to the right. A cat toying with its prey. He wonders if she likes what she sees. If his shallow breathing and straining muscles have any appeal.

They must, for she drops her hand back with a satisfied smile. He stays in place, even so. Hanging on her breath. “I think you know where this is going, don’t you?” She sings a laugh, leaning back in her chair without care. “Take care of me,” she calls as she spreads her legs open.

He falls against her thigh, and if he whimpers a little, she does not mention it. He presses a kiss to the soft flesh beneath his cheek, as he cannot help it. Every inch of her calls to him. She sighs above him, a shiver running through her. He kisses her thigh again, lips chapped and throat dry, and again and again, as he goes along his way. Her legs hem him in, widening until her heels just so slightly lift off the ground. He’s hard, he realizes, almost aching with it. But he has more pressing matters to contend with. The scattered freckles on her skin, for instance, which he mouths as he crawls up her inner thighs to the core of her.

Her core is shielded by a thatch of brown curls. He kisses her mound, nose brushing against her belly. She’s so warm, he feels scalded where they touch. He wishes his hands were untied so that he could draw her closer to him, and he strains in an attempt to undo his bounds. No such luck, but that does not mean he will sit idle. He exhales, feeling her shiver beneath him. One of her hands falls to the crown of his head, a caress. He presses one kiss to her soft walls, slick with moisture. Where her folds overlap there is a pearl, and when his lips brush it, her hand tightens in his hair. Her remaining hand clenches the arm of the chair.

She breathes high and thin as he drops more kisses to her pearl. He dips below, where her folds part, and laps up some of the slickness there. Tang and salt on his tongue, he swallows around nothing as he returns to his task. Her sighs turn to gasps, and then gasps to his name – “Ferdie, Ferdie,”— as she clenches around him. Her thighs shake as tension thrums through her. He breathes her in as he presses his lips to her core, the heat of her, the warmth. She’s approaching a cliff, freefall, and he does what he can to urge her along, sucking here and licking there, until she sings. Her voice shivers as much as her legs are, and yet more slickness floods his mouth. Her skin is flushed red, her eyes watering, her hair in disarray, her hands slack.

She’s beautiful.

As her shaking subsides and her breathing calms, he eases off her sensitive areas and lays his head in her lap. When he leans back, he feels a twinge in his shoulders. It doesn’t seem too alarming, but there is a creaking noise that worries him, and when he waggles his hands, the twinge feels even worse. So, regretfully, Ferdinand says, “Honey, I think my shoulders are—”

“I’ve got it, don’t you worry!” Dorothea’s eyes go a bit wide as she wakes herself up, depositing the pirate hat on the shelf behind her and pushing the chair back. She slips her hand through the loose knotted handkerchief, which flutters to the floor. “There, is that any better?” Ferdinand flexes, his fingers a bit stiff, and before he can answer she’s sliding onto the floor in front of him, taking his hands in hers. He can see the faint ring left behind by the handkerchief, but his wrists don’t hurt at all when she bends them to and fro. She smiles faintly, pressing soft kisses to his fingers and palms as he flexes his shoulders.

“I feel much better now,” he mutters. He flops forward as if his strings have been cut, head on her shoulder. For a time, he simply stays in place, saying nothing as she holds him. She kisses his forehead aimlessly and runs a hand through his sticky hair. He thinks that if she wished it, he could stay here forever, drifting as she keeps him.

Eventually she glances downward, and oh, he’s still hard, isn’t he? He’d lost track of it completely. “D’you want me to take care of that for you, or can you handle it yourself?”

He blushes, surely helping the blood flow situation below. “If you do not mind?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” she huffs. It takes some effort to open his string-fly and lower his pants enough for her to get a hand around him. It takes surprisingly less effort, pressure from her hand up and down the shaft, for him to meet his end, sighing as he goes. He’s sure he must have spilled some of his seed on her hand and onto the floor, but the mess is wiped up with the handkerchief and placed entirely out of mind.

“I had a wonderful time, Ferdinand,” she says. She smiles softly even still, and he is certain that he will never quite mind doing as he’s bid, so long as it keeps her smiling like that.


End file.
